


Friction

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Tribadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:30:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Joan femslash written for my own selfish purposes a while ago and polished up a little bit. Meaningless smut that I will probably update with another chapter when the mood strikes me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friction

The door is opened and shut again quickly as Joan finds her back pushed roughly against it. In a matter of seconds, Sherlock is pressing lips and teeth against her neck, her coat fanning out and tickling at Joan’s shins. She grips Sherlock’s jaw with her hand, pushing her face away from her neck and closer to her own so she can press their lips together; hot and wet. The kiss itself is messy, both of them far too riled up to be able to co-ordinate properly. It was Sherlock’s fault, really, for feeling Joan up during the cab ride back to the flat after a successful case that took four days to solve (and of those four days, Sherlock slept during none). 

Joan pushes her tongue into Sherlock’s mouth, past teeth so she can rub it along the walls, along the smooth skin on the inside of Sherlock's lips. She slips her hands down around Sherlock’s thighs so she can hike the loose pencil skirt up and slip her own thigh between the other woman’s legs. Sherlock groans, the sound muffled by their mouths pressed against one another, and bucks down against the denim of Joan’s jeans. Moving her hands, Joan slips them around to grip at Sherlock’s arse, pulling her hips down against her thigh, feeling the damp heat a layer away from her skin. 

Sherlock breaks away to whimper; Joan bites and mouths at her exposed neck. She removes her thigh, directing Sherlock over to the sofa where she pushes Sherlock down first before climbing atop her. Briefly, she palms Sherlock’s breasts through layers of jacket, shirt, and bra, feeling ever so slightly the bumps of her nipples against the skin of her hands. Sherlock arches her back underneath Joan’s touch, panting, and Joan can tell this really isn’t going to take that long at all. She leans down over Sherlock’s body, pressing their lips together again but trying to take it slower this time. 

She feels Sherlock’s lips with her own, wet and just a little bit chapped. Sliding one hand into her short, wayward hair, Joan ignores the growing tension in her groin – ignores the urge to just thrust against Sherlock’s knee which is brushing against her stomach through her jumper and shirt. She fists her hand in the curls, feeling Sherlock’s arms tighten around her shoulders, fingers clutching desperately at her jumper, as she moans into her mouth. Breaking away, Sherlock pants and pushes her head back against the arm of the sofa. 

“Joan,” she says the word with the sense of urgency that Joan recognises well. She reaches for Sherlock’s shirt, unbuttoning buttons without thinking to take the Belstaff coat or the likely ridiculously expensive suit jacket off first, but Sherlock bats her hands away after she manages to unbutton just one button. 

“Too far gone,” she explains, punctuated with a little desperate thrust of her hips that pushes her knee away from Joan’s stomach and off to the side, “Just—“ 

“Yeah,” Joan answers by way of understanding, taking Sherlock’s leg and pushing it up over her shoulder. Sherlock shivers beneath her and angles her other leg so it slips through the gap in Joan’s thighs, pushing her knee up and digging the heel of her shoe into the sofa so her knee presses against the cleft of Joan’s arse through her jeans. 

“We’ll...again, later,” Sherlock says and she's so far past words that Joan thinks later will probably be sooner seeing as quick romps on the sofa were almost never as satisfying as long, languid love making sessions tangled in the covers of their shared bed. Sherlock angles her hips upwards, dark tights stretching and skirt riding up over her waist, pushing her shirt further up, causing it to bag and crease under her breasts. 

Dishevelled is the only word Joan can think of to describe her as she pants there, pressed back into the leather of the sofa, curls falling over her eyes despite how short they are cropped. Joan grips the leg over her shoulder with one hand, balancing herself with the other hand pressed against Sherlock’s stomach as she thrusts their hips together. The friction is delicious especially as she’s wearing jeans. The seam digs in just so against her clit and she can only assume it’s doing the same with Sherlock as she whimpers, bucking her hips harshly back against Joan’s with a breathy ‘fuck’. 

There’s no build up to any sort of rhythm at all, Sherlock pushing herself back against Joan’s thrusts as they go at it hard and fast. Sherlock is so wet by this point that she’s soaked through her knickers, pressing a slight wet patch against the front of Joan’s jeans that Joan herself is almost definitely contributing at least a little bit to. Joan swears through her deep breaths and quiet moans as she feels her orgasm curl in the pit of her stomach, knowing now that it’s not going to be long until she lets go. She leans forwards, changing the angle a bit so Sherlock needs to tilt her hips a little bit more to compensate.

"Can you come like this?” Joan asks. Her breath is moist and warm against Sherlock’s cheek as she feels it fan back out onto her own face. She knows she can herself, but then again she’s always been one more for clitoral stimulation; Sherlock has always enjoyed having fingers, toys, tongues inside of her. 

“Y-yes,” Sherlock gasps, arching up involuntarily and brushing her chest against Joan’s, “I think--...uhn, yes. Yes, I can, just—oh, God. Circle your hips.” 

Joan does as she’s told, pushing the leg on her shoulder out to the side so it’s bent at the knee and spreading Sherlock wide open. She circles her hips, feeling the seam of her jeans catch against Sherlock’s vulva with every rotation. She grinds down roughly against Sherlock’s clit, feeling her own orgasm peak just as Sherlock cries out below her sharply. 

Sherlock’s hand grips her neck, pulling their faces together so she can sloppily kiss Joan, breathing and panting into the kiss as Joan continues to grind them both together, milking out the last shards of sensation from the orgasm. Sherlock whimpers into her mouth as Joan draws their hips apart and moves her legs so she can lie in between Sherlock’s own. Joan doesn’t ever think she’ll grow bored or tired of hearing that sound at any point between now and the end of her life.

"Twenty minutes," Sherlock breathes, "Twenty minutes and I'll be up for it again."

Joan presses her face against Sherlock's collarbone and giggles quietly but helplessly. "No, Sherlock. It would go against my moral conscience to keep you up any longer."

Shuffling back a little, Joan sits up on her knees and admires Sherlock's sated state before climbing off her. She holds her hand out and grins as Sherlock pouts at her, as though pouting will make Joan have sex with her properly. Joan just wiggles the fingers of her outstretched hand until Sherlock clasps them and allows Joan to pull her up from the sofa and onto her feet. She wraps her arms around Sherlock's waist and kisses the skin behind her ear.

"We'll do it again properly tomorrow morning after you've got some actual sleep, okay?" 

"Fine," Sherlock sighs, but Joan can hear the smile in her voice. She nips Sherlock's earlobe playfully before pulling back and leading her to their shared bedroom by the hand.

\----


End file.
